Erica De Mane

Squashes at the Greenmarket in early autumn.

Recipes:

Pàppa al Pomodoro with Marjoram Pesto
Fall Minestrone with Veal Shank, Pumpkin, and Gremolata

At some point during the first few months of my first restaurant cooking job, I was assigned to make the soup. Every day the chef would dump a load of vegetables at my station, and I was supposed to “do something with them.” This became the torment of my life, the thing that gave me bad dreams. One day while I was cooking up a huge pot of onion soup, a blood-soaked Band-Aid on my middle finger seemed to disappear. Sheer panic took charge. I kept fishing around for it with my ladle and then with a strainer. I had about 20 minutes before dinner, and making another pot was absolutely out of the question. And to make matters worse, I was supposed to be finishing up another soup, a pumpkin purée, at the same time, but it was shaping up to taste really boring and I had no idea how to fix it. I prayed that the Band-Aid had fallen on the floor, but somehow I knew it hadn’t. In retrospect, 20 years later, I know I should have told the chef, and he would have just said dump it and forget it, but I was timid and scared of that kitchen at the time, so I just gave the onion soup a good boil, hoping it would destroy my cooties, and sent it out.

How ridiculous. Sweat poured down my neck. I slugged down a glass of red cooking wine to try to calm my jitters. Maybe I wanted to be fired, so I could get out of my daily soup-making misery. Aside from the bloody Band-Aid-infused pot, there was still hanging over my head my extremely boring and slightly bitter-tasting pumpkin soup. I had not a clue how to fix it in the now 15 minutes I had left until dinner service. I kept adding salt, but there was just so far I could go with that. I added more nutmeg, but it remained something I wouldn’t be happy with if I ordered it in a restaurant. Black pepper helped somewhat. How are you supposed to make everything taste great with no advance notice of what you’ll be dealing with? Is this what separates the beginners from the professionals? It was too late to add booze, my usual flavor booster, which I had neglected this time. I added sherry to the onion soup (in addition, I feared, to the bloody Band-Aid) and let it reduce down to a sweet thickness that smelled wonderful.

What goes with pumpkin? Sage? We had it in the walk-in. Would sage start tasting musty, simmering in the pot all evening? I really didn’t know the answer to that, but I threw some in anyway. I added more nutmeg, which helped some. Cinnamon? That would make it taste like a pumpkin pie. Is that so bad? I didn’t know the answer to that either. And why the hell was the soup bitter? I had only added shallots and carrot, but why would sweet vegetables turn pumpkin bitter? Who knows? Maybe the pumpkin itself was bitter. I added a little sugar. It helped, but now it just tasted like bitter pumpkin pie filling.

The Band-Aid was thankfully never found (but where had it gone?), and I got through the evening with nobody complaining about my soups, although I did feel like a culinary moron and an evil germ spreader. The next day the chef dumped a big bag full of red bell pepper trimmings on my station. Oh, here we go again. The test for the novice. If I had the luxury of actually thinking about it, maybe I would have done a better job, but as it was, every day was a crap shoot. I spent my mornings frantically searching cookbooks for ideas to help me confront whatever ingredient might be foisted on me. I made lists of vegetables with notes about what seasonings go well with each one, but ultimately that didn’t help much since I had no time to think once I got to work. The most depressing thing was that under this pressure to perform I found that my zucchini soup tasted much like my pumpkin soup or like my potato soup.

I got better at adding herbs and booze and sautéing a good mirapoix, but time was what I craved. I almost never had time to make, say, croutons, or a pesto to swirl into the soup, something that would have given it a little distinction. The soup was ready when my time was up, so a long simmer was out of the question. Time is what one never has at a restaurant. Maybe my soups were better than I thought. I was allowed to continue making them, and I got compliments, but I continued to feel I was working in a pressure cooker. When I bother to recall that feeling, I realize why I never became a head chef.

I like to luxuriate over my cooking, and then talk about it and then write about it. Even with all I’ve learned about cooking over the years, when I watch Iron Chef on TV it makes me crazy with anxiety. I don’t understand the love of the sport. I like my little kitchen and my computer, and I like to take my time. Here are a couple of early-autumn soup recipes for you to try when you want to take your time and turn out something really nice.

Pàppa al Pomodoro with Marjoram Pesto

I always make this smooth, thick tomato soup in October with the bruised, last of the season tomatoes I find at the Greenmarket. The pesto is a new addition. Pàppa means pap.

(Serves 4)

For the pesto:

5 large sprigs of marjoram, stemmed
About 3/4 cup flat-leaf parsley leaves
1/2 cup whole blanched almonds
1 garlic clove, chopped
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup grated Pecorino cheese
Salt

For the soup:

Extra-virgin olive oil
1 shallot, chopped
1 garlic clove, lightly crushed
5 large, round tomatoes, skinned* and roughly chopped, saving the juice
2 slices of day-old Italian bread, torn into small pieces (about 2 cups)
Salt
A generous pinch of sugar
A splash of sweet Marsala wine
1 cup homemade or low-salt canned chicken broth
Black pepper

*To skin the tomatoes drop them into a pot of boiling water until the skins begin to split, about 3 or 4 minutes. Scoop them out with a strainer and run briefly under cool water. The skins should now slip right off.

To make the pesto:

Place all the ingredients in the bowl of a food processor, and pulse until you have a slightly rough paste. Transfer to a small bowl.

To make the soup:

In a medium soup pot, heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallot and sauté until softened, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté a minute longer, just to release its flavor. Add the tomatoes, with any juice they’ve given off, and the bread, salt, and sugar, and sauté about 4 minutes longer. Add the splash of sweet Marsala and let it boil away. Add the chicken broth and 1 cup of water. Let the soup bubble uncovered for about ten minutes. Season with black pepper. Purée in a food processor and return the soup to the pot. Reheat gently if necessary and add additional water if needed to get a thick but pourable consistency. Ladle the soup into bowls, add a spoonful of pesto to each bowl, and then drizzle each one with a thread of fresh olive oil.

Any leftover pesto is wonderful eaten with bread and ricotta, or tossed with pasta.

Fall Minestrone with Veal Shank, Pumpkin, and Gremolata

The veal shank makes this soup richly flavored, a good counterpoint to the creamy pumpkin. I’ve chosen to flavor it with gremolata, a mix of raw parsley, garlic, and lemon zest (and in this case, sage), since that’s a traditional accompaniment to osso bucco (braised veal shank).

(Serves 4)

For the gremolata:

1 large garlic clove, minced
The grated zest from 1 large lemon
A handful of flat-leaf parsley leaves, finely chopped
About 4 sage leaves, finely chopped
A pinch of salt

For the soup:

Extra-virgin olive oil
1 large 2-inch-thick piece of osso bucco
1 medium onion, cut into small dice
1 large carrot, cut into small dice
A pinch of sugar
Salt
Black pepper
3 allspice, ground to a powder (about 1/8 teaspoon)
1/2 cup dry white wine
2 cups homemade or low-salt canned chicken broth
1 cup pumpkin, cut into medium dice
2 small round tomatoes, skinned and chopped
1/2 small escarole, the leaves chopped
1/2 cup orzo pasta, cooked al dente

To make the gremolata:

Mix all the ingredients together, giving them an extra couple of chops to blend everything well.

To make the soup:

In a large soup pot, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the piece of veal shank, and brown it on one side. Turn it, add the carrots and onion, the pinch of sugar, salt, black pepper, and allspice. Brown the other side. Add the white wine, and let it boil away. Add the chicken broth and enough water to cover the veal. Bring to a boil, and then turn the heat down to low. Cover and simmer for 1 1/2 hours, or until the veal is very tender.

Take the veal from the pot. Add the pumpkin and tomato, and simmer, uncovered until the pumpkin is tender but not falling apart, about 15 minutes. Add the escarole, and simmer about 5 minutes longer.

Removed the meat from the bone, and chop it into little pieces. Pry out the marrow with a knife, and add everything to the soup, working the marrow in a little with your spoon to break it up. Add the pasta, and adjust the seasoning. If your soup has gotten too thick (I like this a bit brothy), add more water. Drizzle with fresh oil olive and give it a stir.

Serve hot, each bowl sprinkled with some gremolata.